


reconnect

by TheHiddenPassenger



Category: EDM, Pendulum/Knife Party
Genre: Beards, M/M, Shower Sex, abandon ship era, beardy - Freeform, beardy gaz, beardy rob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-17
Updated: 2014-11-17
Packaged: 2018-02-25 17:36:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2630408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHiddenPassenger/pseuds/TheHiddenPassenger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jetlag has Gaz completely bushwhacked, but not too exhausted that he doesn't succeed in giving it to Rob, good and hard in the shower.</p>
            </blockquote>





	reconnect

**Author's Note:**

> Y'know how most of my shit tends to be semi-contemplative and thought-provoking? This ain't that. This is porn. Enjoy the garob porn, please.

The sun rises over some horizon, somewhere and into Rob’s eyes. He doesn’t appreciate this, never has. The guy isn’t a morning person. The disheveled producer covers his eyes and groans. It’s 8 am and Gaz is home, snoring like a chainsaw. They’ve been apart too long, Rob working on an album and his partner out, doing solo shows. It’s not been easy for either of them. Start to finish, this entire year has been something of a crock of shit, but the goddamn thing is finally done, having passed Earstorm inspection and is now in the hands of Big Beat.

 

‘Best of fucking luck,’ Rob thinks, groggily.

 

Laying still next to Rob, Gareth sleeps like a log, getting over jetlag. He won’t be up for another little while; being next to his lover keeps him from stirring. Simply being away from his partner, off performing alone has kept him from getting a good night’s sleep. Now, it seems, he’s making up for it.

 

Rob’s been in a similar situation. He’s let his beard get away from him, his ever-present-eyebags expand, and his legendary sneer become a permanent, ugly fixture of an otherwise attractive face. They’re both a goddamn mess. Stumbling in the night before, Gareth had found Rob actually awake and playing an old Megaman game on his gameboy. The moment had been surreal when the door flew open and the ginger deposited his shit all over the front hall.

 

Rob had smiled.

 

That thought remains in Gaz’s mind as he sleeps on. Shifting, the thick-bodied ginger tosses an arm over Rob’s torso. His hand has found swift contact with Rob’s bony, bruised hip. Things had gotten quickly heated the night before and Rob is now feeling it. He hisses and draws away, but he cannot escape. Gaz has him trapped, without realizing it, of course.

 

The slender DJ stares at the wall a while longer before groaning dramatically and squirming around to face Gaz and then promptly swat his bearded cheeks with one rather dexterous hand. The slapping sound is satisfying, but isn’t doing the job. The guy is still sleeping.

 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Rob mumbles venomously. He needs a shower and a trim and a shitload of other things, breakfast among them, maybe a fucking massage. But no, Gaz has to be jetlagged all to hell and here they will stay until the ginger’s sleep schedule is caught up. “I’ll bash ur fokkin’ head in, m8.”

 

Which, for some reason, is the one phrase always guaranteed to capture Gaz’s attention.

 

“Y’meme-ing fuck,” the inked producer mumbles almost incoherently. It’s his way of saying “good morning” to the man he’s missed for almost a month. It’s a cruel thing these record labels do, especially to duos. They figure “well, there’re two of you assholes, so one of you can do whatever, but someone’s gotta do shows.”

 

“Lemme go,” Rob hisses, pushing away from Gaz’s chest. This makes his partner actually hold onto him, which of course means he’s going exactly nowhere. Gareth’s hand is planted firmly on Rob’s lower back, making something of a claw shape, fingertips digging in. Their bodies are pressed flush, morning wood and all.

 

“Nah.”

 

Rob’s eyes narrow to slits. The look is even more threatening than usual with his expanded eyebags and fearsome beard. All Gaz sees is a dude who needs more sleep and a good fuck. He’s not wrong, maybe a bit too eager, but not wrong. ‘Fucking cocksucker needs a vacation,’ Gaz’s mind reasons, ‘or a road trip at least...’

 

The stick-thin producer hasn’t stopped staring his companion down, one hand pressed flat against Gaz’s fuzzy chest. An ugly sneer etches itself into Rob’s face as he wriggles. Gaz just tugs him closer.

 

“What could you possibly want from me at eight-fucking-thirty in the morning?” Rob inquires, mouth barely moving, as is his usual pattern of speech. He clicks his tongue and studies Gaz for any signs of weakening.

 

“I’ve been over twenty hours away for almost a month and you’re bitching at me _already_? You’re such an infant, Rob.”

 

“I want a shower,” retorts the younger man. “And I’m hungry and I need some coffee. We’ll talk when I’ve had those things and not a moment before.”

 

“So, what’re we doing now?” Gaz purrs slyly.

 

Again, Rob clicks his tongue. This time, no answer comes to mind. He simply continues to wriggle and writhe. Of course, the action is simply rubbing their cocks together. Both men are flushed and now they’re panting a little. Rob bites his lip and stops moving as he realizes this.

 

“Why’d ya stop?” Gareth’s tone is one of complete domination and victory. It’s not unfriendly, but it’s clear who’s winning here.

 

“I’m not playing with you right now,” replies the beet-red DJ. The shade is remarkable on his pale flesh. Framed in black and accented with the blue of his eyes, it’s really quite fetching, or so Gaz thinks.

 

“Okay, fine,” concedes the ginger, loosening his grip, “but hear me out for a second, okay?”

 

“Wot?”

 

“How about,” Gaz hesitates a second, just to see if Rob is listening, “we get outta here a while, y’know? Take a fuckin’ vacation...maybe just a road trip to who-the-fuck-cares?”

 

“Aren’t you sick of traveling?”

 

“Alone, I am.”

 

This response stops Rob’s heart for a moment. It brings back all the memories of late nights alone in the studio, turning in his chair to ask Gaz his opinion on this track or the other and finding only Judas where the big ginger should have been. He recalls his twitter post regarding that subject, how humorous it was--

 

And how he had been tearing himself apart on the inside even as the photo uploaded.

 

“Where do you wanna go?” Blue eyes have locked onto bleary green and now Rob is putting his partner on the spot. He doesn’t mean to grill a man who’s half awake, but now he’s intrigued and really wants to know if there’s a plan here or if Gareth is just babbling.

 

“I dunno,” Gaz shrugs, rolling his eyes. “Does it _have_ to be someplace specific, or can we just drive?”

 

Rob likes to have a purpose. He thrives on goals and deadlines. At the same time, those mental stopwatches have begun to burn him out, little by little. He’s only 32, and Gareth is honestly worried that by 33, the guy will be a skeleton--not the kind that participates in any sort of war, either.

 

The thought makes him chuckle. ‘Who’s the meme-ing fuck, now?’ His mind has wandered to hilarious, if woefully inappropriate places and has allowed Rob to worm free of his grasp. The skinny producer is now headed directly out the door of his bedroom and down the hall to the shower. Gaz clicks his tongue and calls after:

 

“I was serious, y’know?”

 

The answer is a grunt and then the shutting of a door. If he listens closely, the ginger can almost hear the sound of Rob’s--well, it’s his--shirt being yanked off and then falling to the floor of the bathroom. He knows the sight well and, frankly, he’s missed it. Right now, however, Gaz is still fucking exhausted and not entirely certain his presence is immediately required therein.

 

So he crashes.

  
The arms of Morpheus envelop him like a gentle lover, warm and soft and probably communicating via more than grouchy grunts and ugly, sneering faces. His corporeal lover is not so accommodating.

 

A shower is much needed after a long night of sweaty fucking and the inevitable entanglement that had surely followed. Running sore hands over his face, Rob is almost struck motionless by the feeling of the studio beard that has accumulated thereupon. The Aussie producer knows he very likely resembles a hobo and would probably be beaten senseless by an old lady’s purse if he came anywhere near a crowd.

 

“Maybe I should sit outside an’ beg,” he mumbles to himself, his voice echoing off the shower walls as the steaming water cleanses the musk of sex from his skin-and-bones body. “Fingerless gloves and Gaz’s gran’s jacket oughtta do it…”

 

This last thought earns a chuckle from his own ragged throat. Rob’s lips seal immediately. Lack of use for the past few weeks might have caused this--or perhaps their romp the night previous. _That_ thought colors pale cheeks deep crimson.

 

“I _am_ serious about that road trip,” Gaz’s muffled voice shatters his partner’s reverie. He’s made his way to the bathroom door, not having bothered to dress himself. Maybe Rob won’t let him in, but he might listen. “We can go...y’know north or to the continent--y’know, fuckin’...Italy, or whatever.”

 

Italy _does_ sound nice. Gaz is clearly not going to let this go. Rob wonders if he’ll stand out there, blabbing the whole time he’s in the shower. Knowing the ginger, yeah, he probably will and so Rob responds in the only way he knows how.

 

“Whatever,” it’s barely audible, as grunts go, but Gaz can hear it. He stays right where he is, despite this. The addition comes a few moments later. “Are you coming in?”

 

The door creaks open and closes quietly as Gareth pads across the tile floor to the occupied shower. Steam rises from it as he pulls back the curtain and steps in. Rob moves aside to allow him room under the warm spray. Gaz hisses, complaining:

 

“You always have it so fuckin’ hot--”

 

Rob shrugs. He likes to be clean. Hot water makes things clean. Ergo--hot shower water. What does not make things clean is a pair of erections brushing against each other in a warm shower. Rob clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes.

 

“Really?”

 

Gaz shrugs, having come to accept that he cannot control his body at all times… Or, like, ever. Instead of worrying about it, he reaches between them and palms Rob, who gasps and leans into him, head on his shoulder.

 

“You like _that_ , though, don’tcha?”

 

Slowly, calloused fingers curl into an appropriate shape to just tease here and there, and then his hand starts to move. It’s a slow, up-and-down motion, pausing at the tip to add some much-needed pressure. The noises that begin to trickle from Rob’s lips are exactly what the ginger desires.

 

Perhaps there _is_ something Gaz loves more than Rob’s singing voice. Past the dynamic, expressive sounds that the man can produce in the studio, beyond the mumbling, how-is-he-speaking-his-mouth-is-barely-moving way the dark-haired producer tends to communicate normally, there is a level of ungodly heat. That, to Gaz, is of course his little moans and sighs when the thick-bodied Aussie touches his friend just right.

 

Rob’s heart is pounding in his throat, threatening to leap out and go screaming off into the English sunrise. Or something…

 

Either way, it makes him breathe faster, panting against Gaz’s throat. The ginger’s very red beard is scratchy on the bridge of Rob’s long, crooked nose, but the slender DJ presses his face in further as his friend adjusts his grip to toy mercilessly with the head of his cock. Rob grips Gaz’s back for support, fingers digging deep.

 

“Well don’t be such a fuckin’ prude,” Gareth finds himself purring, attempting to encourage Rob’s _other_ sounds, louder ones. He has the capacity to be quite vocal when pleasured properly. Gaz’s unoccupied hand slides around to his partner’s backside and slides between pale cheeks. He’s not going in dry, obviously, but he’ll toy with Rob, just a little.

 

“Fuck off,” Rob manages, arching his back and grasping at anything he can reach. Gaz likes the way that feels, but his buddy just isn’t making enough noises. A change in strategy is in order. The ginger switches tactics abruptly, removing both hands from Rob’s nethers and grasping his upper arms.

 

This earns a surprised gasp and a widening of puppy-like blue eyes. The bags underneath them haven’t disappeared, but the hollow cheeks and gaunt bones lend a certain air of utter astonishment as Gaz turns him around and shoves him--gently, of course--against the back wall of the shower.

 

“How ‘bout this?” His voice is a growl, low and predatory, or perhaps just sleep-deprived. Gaz drops to his knees behind his friend and grasps his ass cheeks almost savagely. Rob grunts, though it’s a higher pitch than his usual response to...well everything.

 

That’s much closer to the sounds for which Gaz has been aiming. He tugs his partner’s cheeks apart and licks his lips, mischief behind green eyes. Rob’s face is pressed against the shower tiles and he can only watch over his shoulder as the ginger begins to assault his recently used hole with a thick, warm tongue.

 

Rob squeals. He arches his back and tosses his head, the feeling of a prickly beard combining with a much-needed intrusion on his rear-end culminating in an oddly satisfying mixture of humiliation and arousal. The skin-and-bones producer’s cock, meanwhile, is pressed hard against that same tile wall, untouched, but not forgotten.

 

Gaz can still taste some of the lube from last night--and his own cum. Rob is strangely into barebacking and has never really cared for the presence of a condom. Despite warnings otherwise, the redhead has long been more than willing to oblige his secretly kinky partner.

 

He allows the saliva to flow freely as he intends to soon replace his tongue with fingers. Right now, however, Gareth is utterly content letting Rob fuck himself on his tongue. The man’s bony hips have indeed begun to move, of their own accord, back and forth. Gaz keeps his tongue ramrod stiff as the muscle will allow to better please his partner.

 

When he withdraws the organ, a frustrated sigh filters down from somewhere above his head and he glances up to catch one slitted blue eye staring down at him.

 

“Relax, m8,” he responds, holding up a hand and twiddling a wave in his friend’s direction, “I’m not done with you.”

 

He starts right in, plunging two fingers right into Rob’s ass. It’s still stretched from the previous night’s exercises and so they go in easily. Nevertheless, the other man whimpers and pushees back against him like he’s never felt it before.

 

“You’re gunna do all the work for me, huh?” Gaz’s voice echoes in his own ears, ringing pleasantly of arousal. “Fuck yourself on my fingers, Rob; I’ve got more where those came from.”

 

It’s half threat, half promise. Rob can’t wait to get to the “more where those came from” bit; that’s sure to make him yell. It’s exactly what Gaz wants, his final aim. He adds another finger, to that end, pushing deep, curling his fingers, reaching for the man’s prostate as best he can.

 

There’re a few points where Gaz is positive he’s reached it. The strangled moaning sounds coming down from above him further confirm this, but he can’t get to it again. It’s time to use something a bit...fleshier. The ginger stands, keeping his fingers in place, but pressing up against Rob to let the guy know exactly what’s about to happen.

 

“Okay…” Rob hisses, quietly, nodding. Gaz’s beard is scratching at the back of his neck now as he removes his fingers and lines his cock up with Rob’s stretched hole. The thin man’s back arches in a pleasing shape and Gareth runs the back of his knuckles along the curvature of his spine.

 

“You sure?” The ginger isn’t a rapist or so horny he can’t take care of himself. In fact, of the two, Rob is the kinky one; Gaz just does whatever he can to please his man. It usually ends with his own climax, anyway, so that’s good enough for him. His partner responds with another nod, this one firmer.

 

“Put it in, for fuck’s sake,” Rob growls, pushing his ass backward to meet the fat tip of his best friend’s stiff cock. The gesture earns him a chuckle and a semi-patronizing headshake from his friend who obligingly guides himself in. It’s a tight fit and not well-lubricated, so Gaz is gentle.

 

Rob’s knuckles are white as his long fingers form claws, seemingly attempting to dig into the tile wall against which his right cheek is pressed flat. From what Gaz can see, Rob is only in pain, his left eye squeezed shut hard, lower lip sucked into his mouth between smallish teeth.

 

But if Rob is in any real pain, he’ll let his partner know. Gaz sinks deep into him, one hand grasping the man’s bony hip, the other slipping around to hold his chest so their bodies are pressed flush against each other. The ginger is almost buried all the way to the hilt inside his best friend, mouth pressed against Rob’s neck.

 

He can taste the thin man’s pulse, pounding hard in his throat. Gareth bites down, mimicking the action of a vampire in those old, cliche movies Rob secretly enjoys. Of course, this action brings an animated gasp from between the vocalist’s lips. The sound tightens the ginger’s balls, which have already been straining since awakening. It won’t take much of this, for either of them.

 

“Gunna make it quick,” Gaz grunts into Rob’s shoulder. “Then we’re packin’ and takin’ off.”

 

Rob nods, helpless to disagree as Gareth’s hips begin slowly moving. The man is forcing himself to be gentle, due in part to inadequate preparation and to his own exhaustion. The thick-bodied DJ is still suffering severe jet lag and his partner isn’t much better off on the lack of sleep front.

 

He pistons in and slowly pulls out, repeating the action and simultaneously shoving Rob hard into the wall. Rob grunts with each thrust, doing his best to move with Gaz, but feeling the fatigue spread through every limb. He’s glad the ginger isn’t going to drag this shit out, no matter _how_ good it feels.

 

Gaz’s lips on his shoulder and the thickness inside him keep Rob grounded in reality and begin to force louder sounds from his mouth. Grunts and panting become yelps and whining. The hand holding Rob’s bony hip tightens to gain purchase while the one on his belly attempts running itself gently up and down, a half-soothing, half-teasing gesture.

 

Every time Gareth’s hand slips downward, it brushes against Rob’s semi-neglected cock, which has a thin, translucent layer of precum crowning it. As their hips begin to move in unison, however, Gaz grabs a hold of his partner and begins toying with the head, sliding his thumb along its sensitive slit.

 

Rob whimpers, trailing off to a low groan as Gaz’s pace speeds up. One hand slides around to grip the ginger by the back of the neck while Rob’s head lolls uselessly off to the side, stars exploding behind his squeezed-shut eyes. Once more, his lower lip is sucked between white teeth.

 

“Like I said,” Gaz repeats. “Gunna be quick.”

 

He forges onward, hitting his friend deep and hard several times, close and ever closer. His pace becomes frantic and the other man cannot hold back wanton cries. Or maybe he doesn’t want to--either way, the sounds send Gaz over the edge and he thrusts deep, stiffening as his balls squeeze a pent-up load into his friend’s ass.

 

Rob feels the heat of his partner’s seed and the callous of his thumb toying with the sensitive head of his cock. The heat between his thighs builds to an inescapable crescendo as Gaz forces from him the best orgasm he’s had in months. He squirts hard between his own body and the wall of the shower, vision tunnelling for half a second.

 

Perhaps they should not have attempted this. Maybe they need more sleep. One thing is for certain, however. They crave the intimacy only the other person can provide. It’s physical, but also somehow spiritual, on a deeper level than just satisfying sexual desire.

 

Rob sinks back against Gareth as the ginger pulls out and wraps thick, tattooed arms around his thin, exhausted partner. It’s difficult to support himself, much less Rob with the jelly leg feeling brought on by such a powerful orgasm, but he’s not about to drop his best friend and leave.

 

“About that trip, then?” He’s also got Rob trapped and the man cannot hope to escape discussing it.

 

“Sure,” Rob grunts. “Fine.”

 

He doesn’t seem excited, but not a lot succeeds arousing his interest past mild entertainment. Anyway, at this point, it doesn’t matter what Rob _wants_. What he _needs_ is to get the fuck out of the house and away from everything that’s trapped him for almost half a year now.

 

Waiting long enough for the last of Gaz’s cum to work its way out of his partner’s ass, the DJ’s hobble out of the shower, flushed and sufficiently pruny. Rob takes one look at himself in the mirror and sneers, hard.

 

“You gunna shave?” Gaz inquires, halfway out the bathroom door. Rob nods.

 

“Yeh, I’m about done with the terrorist beard.”  
  
“Good, then I’ll pack your shit,” responds, disappearing from the threshold and leaving no room for argument. Rob reflects that it will likely be good to escape, despite his home-body tendencies. Breathing different air than that of his studio is bound to be nothing but beneficial.

 

And car sex isn’t bad, either...

 

**Author's Note:**

> Tiny ficlet from a request, the prompt of which was "Rob and Gaz go on a road trip to escape the mundane-ness of reality." I missed the prompt by a fucking mile, and for that I'm sorry. 
> 
> But y'all got rimming, shower sex, and grouchy Rob out of the deal so, y'know...there's that.


End file.
